Matters of the Heart
by allthingsdecent
Summary: Season 5, post Joy: Lucas asks Cuddy out and she checks with House to see if he minds. He behaves with honesty and maturity. JK, he acts like House!
1. Chapter 1

**Hey kids. When you write 174 stories some are going to be better than others. Suffice it to say, this is not my best effort, but I've been told many times that people prefer a crappy story to no story. Potential for a part 2, if you guys are feelin' it. – atd**

"Why is it that every time I ask you out, you ignore me?" Lucas said, following Cuddy down the PPTH hall.

"Because you're not being serious," Cuddy said. She was walking so quickly and purposefully, Lucas had the distinct impression she was trying to escape him.

"Your ability to walk quickly in those heels never ceases to amaze me," he said, running to catch up. "And of course I'm serious. I never joke about matters of the heart."

"Oh," Cuddy said, wrinkling her nose. "Then I guess I always figured you were just asking me out to mess with House."

"I have an alternate theory," Lucas said. "You wanna hear it?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"I think you were dodging the question because you were waiting for a better offer."

She finally stopped.

"I assume we're still talking about House here?" Cuddy said.

"Exactly. I mean, I get it. He's the rebel brooding guy in the back of the class with the leather jacket and the bad attitude who all the girls are swooning over. But trust me, the loveable and well-adjusted class clown is a much safer bet."

"When did PPTH turn into a giant metaphor for high school?"

"When didn't it?"

She smiled, despite herself.

"Good point."

"But here's the thing: House is never going to ask you out," Lucas said.

Cuddy narrowed her eyes.

"I never said that I wanted him to. . ."

"You want to know why he's never going to ask you out?"

"I'm guessing I _still _don't have a choice…"

"He's into you, don't get me wrong. Any dude with a set of eyes and working penis would be…"

He looked up to see if she was offended, but she was so used to House's provocations, it barely registered.

"But there's one thing that House is more into than you," Lucas continued. "And that's his own misery. Dating you would make him happy, ergo he would no longer be miserable. Ergo, he wouldn't recognize himself and he loves himself way too much not to recognize himself. So it's never going to happen. With that in my mind, I ask you, sincerely _and _seriously: Lisa Cuddy, will you go out with me?"

Cuddy bit her lip.

"I'll get back to you," she said.

And she strutted away.

Lucas shrugged, as he watched her. "Hey, at least it wasn't a no," he said to no one in particular.

######

Cuddy sat down across from House at lunch. He looked down at her tray in dismay.

"Is it your diabolical plan to never put anything on your tray I might even remotely want to eat?" he said.

"Yes, that's it, House. I eat healthily just to screw with you."

"Figured so much," he said. "But the joke's on you, because French fries taste great when dunked in ranch dressing."

He took his fry and dunked it with a flourish into her dressing.

Then he took a bite, made a face.

"There's been some sort of horrible mistake," he said. "There seems to be no buttercream in your ranch dressing."

"It's low-fat," she said.

"And no-flavor," he added.

They ate for a few minutes in companionable silence until she said, "So, um, something interesting happened today."

"Something interesting happens every day."

"This particular interesting thing happened to me. . ."

"Do tell..."

"I bumped into Lucas and he…" she eyed him cautiously— "well, he asked me out."

He didn't flinch.

"And when you stopped laughing, what did you say?"

"I didn't laugh."

"No?"

"No, Lucas is nice. And cute. . . well, from some angles at least_._ And he's very persistent."

"So's a bible salesman."

"I find him sort of adorable—in a puppyish way. So I was just wondering, well, how you felt about that?

"I think it's a horrible idea," House said.

Cuddy sighed a bit, relieved. "You do?"

"Need I remind you that you are the Dean of Medicine at a major hospital and he spies on people from a van?" House continued.

"Oh," she said, looking down. Then she added: "You know I don't care about stuff like that."

"All women care about stuff like that."

"Are you accusing me of being elitist?"

"Not elitist. Practical. People date within their own social strata for a reason."

"Do tell, Ayn Rand."

"The fact that you are more attractive than he is, more successful than he is, more wealthy than he is—it's unsustainable. What does Lucas bring to the table, except for a lot of cool private eye gadgets and his Frequent Eater Card from Burger Giant?"

"He's fun!" Cuddy said, defensively. Then she blinked. "So that's your _only _objection to me going out with Lucas?"

He eyed her.

"Why else?" he said.

Her face fell.

"No, you're right. No reason." She popped up, unexpectedly. "Well, you've certainly given me a lot to think about, but I . . .I just remembered I have a 2 pm conference call." She took her tray and walked away.

House put his head in his hands.

"Crap," he groaned.

#####

"Ask me why I'm smiling!" Lucas said, walking into House's office.

"Because Cuddy said yes," House said, testily.

"Because Cuddy said y—." Lucas started to say, then stopped. "Wait, how did you know that?"

"She told me."

"She did?"

"Well, she told me you asked her out and that insufferable smile on your face was my next clue."

"And you . . . gave it your blessing?"

"I don't need to give Cuddy my blessing," House said. "She's a grown woman. A massively delusional one with horrible taste in men, obviously, but a grown woman."

Lucas cocked his head.

"And us? We're cool. Because I once asked you if you wanted me to back off from her and you were noncommittal. Of course, it's a little late now. . ."

"We're fine. Both you and Cuddy can do whatever you want."

Lucas looked at him, unconvinced, but decided to let it go.

"I am obviously punching way above my weight class here," he said, cheerfully. "Any suggestions?"

"Yeah," House said. "Don't act like yourself."

#####

The morning after Cuddy's first date with Lucas, House cornered Wilson in the men's room.

"You're having lunch with Cuddy today, right?"

"Right."

"I need you to get the intel on her date with Lucas. Be very specific. No detail is too small."

"Why not ask just her yourself?"

"Duh. Because then it will seem like I'm jealous."

"That's because you _are_ jealous."

"I'm not jealous. I'm just …curious."

"A month ago, you kissed her. Now she's going on a date with Lucas. But no you're not jealous. Just …curious."

"Exactly. So will you do it?"

Wilson folded his arms.

"No."

"No?"

"No. This is between you and Cuddy. Tell her how you really feel, before this gets out of hand."

"You're useless, as predicted," House said. "Luckily, I already have Plan B in play."

####

Plan B, as it turns out, was getting Sharon, the new candy striper, to eavesdrop on Wilson's lunch with Cuddy from an adjacent table—and take notes.

House paid her $100 for the service.

She came to his office right after.

"So?" he said to her.

"You owe me $126.52," she said.

"We settled on a hundred!" he protested.

"I had to eat lunch, right? Otherwise, I'd look suspicious."

"I wasn't aware the hospital cafeteria sold lobster," he said, rolling his eyes. But he handed her the money.

"So speak," he said.

She pulled out her note pad.

"Wilson ordered the turkey club. Cuddy ordered the cobb salad."

"Don't care. Tell me about Lucas."

She flipped a few pages.

"Wilson said, 'How was the big date?' and she said, 'It was fine.'"

"It was fine?" House said. "Those were her _exact words_?"

She glanced at her notes. "Yes," she said. "And then Wilson said, 'Just fine?' and she said, 'Fine…with potential to be more than fine.'"

"Shit," House said, under his breath. "Did she say where he took her?"

She scanned her notes.

"Giovanni's," she said.

"Huh," House said. "Nice place. What else?"

"Wilson asked if things got physical."

"Don't bury the lead, woman! What did she say?"

"She said, 'It's funny, I used to get a slightly pervy vibe off Lucas, but he was a total gentleman. He didn't even try to kiss me goodnight.'"

"Excellent. I knew Lucas didn't have it in him. So did my name come up?"

"As a matter of fact it did. Wilson said that you were 'totally freaking out' over the date."

House shook his head.

"That goddamn Judas. And how did Cuddy respond?"

"She said that she gave you a chance to object and ask her out yourself but you p —" she squinted at her notes, briefly unable to read her own handwriting—"you _pussied _out," she said, triumphantly.

House folded his arms.

"So did they schedule a second date?"

"Yes, Friday night. At the Hamilton Inn."

"Excellent work. Ironically, you're a better private eye than Lucas is."

######

The date at the Hamilton Inn was going well, with conversation flowing as Lucas regaled Cuddy with tales of his misadventures as a private eye. They had just ordered a second bottle of pinot grigio, and Cuddy was thinking, "So it is possible to enjoy the company of a man who is not Gregory House" when her pager went off.

She looked down.

"Sorry, it's the hospital. I've got to take this."

But when she called back, it was House who answered.

"I need you back at the hospital," he said. "It's an emergency."

"What kind of emergency?" she said, skeptically. "We ran out of Snickers bars in the vending machine?"

"No, I need to cut part of my patient's stomach out. Figured you might want to know. . ."

"You need to do that _right now_? This exact instant?"

"Assuming you want the guy to live. Otherwise, we can do it during the autopsy I suppose."

She sighed.

"I'll be there in 20 minutes," she said.

"Make it 15," he said.

Cuddy hung up, looked at Lucas apologetically.

"Sorry," she said.

"Hospital emergency?" he said.

"It happens. Occupational hazard."

"Hey, I understand. You're a powerful woman. I like it. It's a turn on."

She smiled wearily and stood, as Lucas helped her on with her coat.

"Any chance you can join me later on, at my place, for a nightcap?" he asked hopefully.

She looked at her watch. "It's late. I'll probably just head home straight from the hospital."

"Oh well, can't blame a guy for asking," he said.

Then he said, brightly: "It's your turn to pay so can you give me $150 before you go?"

Her eyes widened.

"Uh…sure," she said, reaching for her purse.

"I'm just messing with you," he laughed. "Go. Be important."

She gave an uneasy smile, and quickly drove to the hospital.

But when she got to House's office, his team wasn't assembled, and there wasn't a surgeon in sight. In fact, House was sitting at his desk, his glasses perched halfway down his nose, reading a medical journal.

"Oh hi," he said when he saw her.

"_Oh hi_? I just raced over here from downtown. What about your patient? I thought he was in crisis?"

"False alarm. Turns out it wasn't acute bowel obstruction. It was just gas."

"You knew I was on a date with Lucas and you intentionally sabotaged it!"

"I made an honest mistake."

"There's nothing honest about you—ever," she said.

He grimaced.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I think you know."

"Come on, don't be mad. Okay, it's true. I knew you were on a date. Lucas and I like to screw with each other. It's what we do."

"You were screwing with Lucas and yet _I'm _the one who had to leave a half-eaten duck breast on my plate and speed across town like a maniac for nothing!"

"Collateral damage," he said.

"I'm not amused."

"Don't pout, Cuddy. Lemme buy you a burger," he said, trying to keep his voice casual. "To make up for it."

"Screw you," she said, storming out.

"Well, better me than Lucas," he said, after she was gone.

####

Lucas and Cuddy were on their third date, at Chez Jacques, when the sound of particularly loud woman's laughter pierced the room. Lucas looked up.

"Isn't that woman with House?" he said.

Indeed, sitting at a corner table—candlelight, a bottle of wine— was none other than Gregory House. The woman sitting across from him had teased blonde hair and was wearing red stiletto pumps and a skirt the size of a postage stamp. She was beautiful, in a tacky sort of way. She was also, quite obviously, a prostitute.

"Is that his date?" Lucas said. "Because whoa. She's a knockout."

"She could be your date, too. For the right price."

"She's a hooker?" Lucas said, squinting.

"Of course," Cuddy said. "What kind of private eye are you? House is trying to disrupt our date. _Again_. I've really got to start planting false intel in my online datebook."

"You think he hacked into your account?" Lucas said, mildly impressed.

"He's done it before."

"Do you want me to go tell him to buzz off?"

"No, I'm not going to let him ruin our evening," she said, picking up her menu defiantly. "Let's just pretend he's not here."

"Sounds like an excellent plan."

They ordered and ate dinner, but Cuddy kept glancing in House's direction. The woman kept laughing loudly and they would occasionally clink glasses, in shared merriment. At one point, under the table, she could see that House and his "date" were playing footsie.

"I'll be right back," she said.

She marched up to House's table. He pretended to be surprised to see her.

"You come here too?" he said. Then, "How rude of me: Cuddy, Brandy. Brandy, Cuddy."

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" Cuddy said, a fake smile frozen on her face.

"Me or Brandy?" House said.

"Outside, right now," Cuddy said, grabbing House by the collar.

"Excusez moi," House said, bowing at Brandy and letting himself be dragged.

"Life is just full of strange coincidences, isn't it?" he said, once they were outside. "You're here on a date. I'm here on a date…"

"You hacked into my datebook," Cuddy said. "Again."

House grinned.

"You'd think by now you'd learn to plant false intel in that thing."

"So this is you messing with Lucas again?"

He shrugged.

"No, I suppose this time I'm messing with you,"

"You think I'm going to be jealous of that…skank?"

"_High-class_ skank, thank you very much."

"At least I don't have to pay for my dates," Cuddy said.

"I think spending time with Lucas is price enough," he said.

"Really? Because I think he's great. Fun, attentive…uh, sexy."

"Once more with feeling, Cuddy."

"It would seem that we're both getting laid tonight," Cuddy said, with a knowing smirk.

"Don't have sex with Lucas just to spite me," House said seriously, folding his arms.

"I'm not spiting you. I'm into him. Besides, why should only one of us have sex tonight?"

"Brandy was just hired for dinner."

"Suuure she was."

"I'm serious, Cuddy. All games aside. Please don't. . ."

"Is everything okay out here?" Lucas said, poking his head out of the restaurant door.

"We need a minute!" House barked.

"Actually, we're all done," Cuddy said, taking Lucas's arm. "Let's order dessert."

######

About an hour-and-a-half later, there was the sound of a motorcycle engine being cut, and then a knock on Cuddy's front door.

"That's House, isn't it?" Lucas said. They were sitting on the couch in front of the fire, both fully dressed, drinking brandy. "I'll get rid of him."

"No, I'll handle it," she said.

She answered the door.

"Go away, House."

"Cuddy, I'm going crazy here," he said.

There was something slightly agitated in his eyes and he was sweating, like he had worked himself into a bit of a lather. It made Cuddy soften.

"Why?" she said, pointedly.

He peered into the room.

"Has anything happened yet?"

"Lots has happened. We put on some Brahms. We made a fire. I poured us a couple of glasses of brandy. I thought that last bit was poetic."

"Tell him to leave," House said.

"Where's _your_ Brandy?"

"Who knows? Nothing happened. I swear it."

"I don't care if it did or didn't."

"Yes you do," he said, looking at her.

She swallowed, looked down.

"Why do you keep messing with me, House?"

"I don't know," he said truthfully.

"Two weeks ago I asked if you minded if I dated Lucas. You gave me a spiel about social strata and unsustainability. Not once did you utter the words: I want you for myself."

"Because I don't need to say that," he said. "You know how I feel."

"Humor me."

He clenched his jaw a bit.

"I don't want you with Lucas."

"And?"

"I'm insanely jealous."

"And?"

He hesitated.

"I want you for myself," he said.

She suddenly felt her heart beating wildly in her chest. Her lips parted, almost unconsciously.

"I want to be the only man who touches you," he whispered in her ear. His breath was hot on her neck. "Ever again."

They were both breathing harder now, their chests heaving in unison. She felt herself vibrating a bit, just from his nearness.

"Then touch me," she said.

He caressed her face for a moment and then her neck, which she stretched, like a cat, and his hand moved slowly to her cleavage and she then dove for him, her tongue rammed in his mouth, their bodies pressed against the door frame. She had wrapped her leg around him and was just starting to reach under his shirt, grope for bare skin, when a voice said, loudly. "What the living fuck?"

They stopped.

"Shit," Cuddy said. "Lucas."

"Did you actually _forget _I was in the next room?" Lucas said, disbelievingly.

In fact, she had.

"No, I… of course not. I … House just grabbed me and kissed me. It was …"

"Totally my fault," House said.

"He _forced_ you to grope him?"

"We got carried away," Cuddy said. "I'm sorry. I'm totally embarrassed."

"You should be," Lucas said. "You're acting like a slut."

"Hey now," House said, stepping toward him threateningly.

"You've got to be kidding if you think you have the moral high ground in this situation," Lucas said.

"She was mine first," House said.

"Hey! I'm not anyone's!" Cuddy said. And then she bowed her head. "But he's right, Lucas. As you know, House and I have a long . . . history together."

"Oh, in that case, this behavior is completely acceptable."

"I'm not saying it is. I'm mortified. I can't apologize enough."

"Don't bother," Lucas said. "I'm out of here."

He brushed past House, roughly. But House held up his hands, and stepped back, as if to say, I don't want to fight.

"Remember what I said, Lisa," Lucas said. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

And he made his way angrily to his car.

"I thought he'd never leave," House cracked.

"Not funny," Cuddy said.

"No, I suppose not." Then he bent toward her, eagerly. "Now where were we?" He went to kiss her, but she put her hand to his chest.

"Forget it Romeo."

"You've got to be kidding," he groaned

"No, I'm not. You hack into my computer, stalk me, sabotage my date—and your reward is I have sex with you? Dream on."

"Ten minutes ago, you were crawling up my leg!"

"And now I've come to my senses, thank God."

"Damn that Lucas," House said. "Such a mood killer. And what did he mean when he said, 'Don't say I didn't warn you?' That was so . . . cheesy."

"He thinks you prefer misery to happiness."

"Only one way to find out," House said, with a half smile.

He bent to kiss her and just for a second, she melted into him, allowing herself the sensation of his lips and tongue and body against hers. Then she backed away.

"You're going to have to be miserable for at least one more night."

"Tomorrow then?"

"Not until you do what you should've done two weeks ago—hell, the day after I lost Joy and we kissed. Ask me out. On a date. With tablecloths and wine and witty repartee."

He smiled, in defeat.

"Lisa Cuddy, will you go out with me? With tablecloths and wine and my best impression of witty repartee."

"I'll get back to you," she said, and winked.

_To be continued? This one could end here, or I could keep going with it. Depends on reader response, tbh…_


	2. Chapter 2

_Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap._

Wilson was trying to eat breakfast, but finding it nearly impossible because, for the last 10 minutes or so, House had been rapping his cane against the floor.

_Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap. _[Brief pause] _Tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap-tap._

"STOP IT!" Wilson finally yelled.

House looked down at his cane, surprised.

"Oh, sorry bout that," he said, in a distracted sort of way.

"Something on your mind, House?" Wilson asked, ironically.

"Nope."

"You sure about that? Because you don't usually turn your cane into a snare drumstick."

"No, it's nothing," House said, still lost in some personal thought. Then, after a few minutes, he shook his head and said: "I will never understand women."

Wilson gave a weary smile: _Finally._

"Any woman in particular?" he asked, ironically.

"Duh," House said.

"Cuddy."

"First, she practically begs me to ask her out. . ."

"Begs?"

"Well, not technically _beg. _But strongly implied that there was no shot I was getting laid unless we did small talk over veal piccata and chianti. And then when I do ask her out she says—and I quote—'I'll get back to you.'"

Wilson smiled, proudly.

"You asked her out? Good for you, House. You finally manned up."

"You're overlooking the crucial point of this story, as per usual. She told me she'd _get back to me._"

"Well, good for her then," Wilson said.

"_Good for her_?"

"Yeah, you put Cuddy through the ringer. You led her on, toyed with her emotions, sent her more mixed messages than a whole army of Candy Morgenthals. . . I mean, what do you expect?"

House scowled.

"Who, pray tell, is Candy Morgenthal?"

"My junior high school crush. She kissed me behind the bleachers and then immediately went steady with Todd Woodsen."

"Did you just compare me to a teenage girl . . . _who kissed you behind the bleachers_?"

Wilson shrugged.

"Hey, if the lip gloss fits…"

House rolled his eyes.

"I will admit that I _may_ have sent Cuddy mixed messages in the past. Possibly. But where's my reward for finally doing the right thing now?"

"On its way to our table, apparently," Wilson said, pointing.

Indeed, Cuddy was sashaying their way, a tiny smile playing at her lips.

"Hello boys," she said, sitting down rather closely next to House.

"Good morning Cuddy," Wilson said. "You're looking especially lovely today."

"Why thank you, Wilson," Cuddy said. Then she gave House a sneaky smile. "Hi," she said in a girlish whisper.

"Hi," he whispered back.

"Oh God," Wilson groaned. "I don't think I can handle this much cuteness so early in the morning."

Cuddy ignored him.

"Can I talk to you alone?" she said to House.

"Absolutely."

"I could—" Wilson gestured for the exit.

"Great idea. Scram," House said.

"That won't be necessary," Cuddy said quickly, grabbing House's arm. "I'll bring him right back."

She led House to an empty table, then smiled.

"After much careful thought and consideration, I've decided to accept your offer to go on a date."

He smiled back.

"Excellent," he said.

"So where are we going?" she said.

"Well, plucky optimist that I am, I took the liberty of making 7 different reservations at 7 different restaurants, one for every night of the week. I wasn't sure which night you were free."

"Wow. Impressive."

"I'm surprisingly industrious, when motivated. So which night is best?"

"No better time than tonight," she said.

"I like the way you think," House said, grinning at her. Then he looked down at his calendar. "That means we're going to Little Bird. 8 o clock."

Little Bird was a new French restaurant that had recently gotten a rave write-up in the newspaper.

"You're just full of surprises, aren't you?" she said.

He shrugged in a "I try" kind of way. Then he squinted at her. "It's around the corner from my apartment. Drinks at my place first? 7ish?"

"Wow. It's like you planned a whole date!"

"If you're lucky, you might even get a corsage," Wilson yelled, from his table.

"Shut up, Wilson," House said.

#####

That night, at just after 7 pm, Cuddy knocked on House's door.

She was wearing a cream-colored wrap dress and black stiletto heels.

House's mouth dropped open at the sight of her.

"Whoa," he said. "If I had known you were wearing that dress, I'd have masturbated before dinner."

"Is that your way of saying I look good" she laughed.

"Better than good."

"Excellent. I was aiming for better than good."

"Mission accomplished." Then he looked down at his own clothing—rumpled blue shirt, even more rumpled khakis. "I clearly need to change."

"You look fine," she said, unconvincingly. (At least he was clean. His hair was still a bit wet and he smelled nice, like fresh sandalwood soap.)

"My outfit is strictly irrelevant, as all eyes will be on you tonight," House said, guiding her inside. "But for the sake of looking more like a date and less like some sort of homeless outreach project, I should probably change." He poured two glasses of wine and handed her one. "But first, a toast."

He raised his glass. "To manning up," he said.

She smiled, knowingly.

"To manning up," she said.

They clinked.

"This is good," she said, sipping.

"Yeah, I remembered you liked it," he said.

For a second, she drew a blank—when had she and House even talked about wine?—and then remembered she had passingly remarked that she liked a particular wine at a hospital function they had both attended. That was three years ago. The man never ceased to amaze her.

He started to head into his bedroom, then turned to look at her.

"You coming?' he said, cocking his head.

"You've been dressing yourself alone for 50 years," she teased.

"Clearly not that well. I need you. Bring the bottle."

She laughed, grabbed the bottle and followed him into his bedroom.

For all their closeness, there were certain lines they didn't cross—perhaps because they both knew that once they crossed those lines, there was no turning back. Cuddy realized this was only the second time she had ever been in House's bedroom. (The first time barely counted; she had put him to bed after his recklessly unhealthy behavior after the bus accident.)

He gestured for her to sit on the bed, then took a large gulp of wine—from the bottle— and handed it back to her. With a shrug, she followed in kind, taking a big swig. He grinned, then began rifling through his closet.

The last time she'd been here it had all been a bit of a blur. Now she took a moment to look around. It was a nice room—simple and masculine, decorated in expensive tones of taupe and gray. There was a medium-sized TV, and a video game console, several hardbound books on the nightstand—mostly medical books, but a few fantasy and sci-fi novels as well—and a beautiful antique lamp that emanated a warm, amber light. There was a set of barbells in the corner of the room, which made her smile. She didn't know House lifted weights.

"Which shirt?" he said, holding up two similar blue dress shirts.

"The darker one," she said. "Definitely."

He nodded and, in a quick motion, stripped off his shirt. She had seen him shirtless before—at Michigan, of course, and a few times around the hospital—but never in such an intimate setting. She was taken aback—and a little turned on. He was lean and strong-looking, with just a tiny matt of light brown hair coating his chest. His arms were ropy, well-defined—weight-lifting had clearly gone to good use.

"Which pants?" he said, now holding up two pairs of pants.

"Black," she said.

He undid his belt, shook off his khakis. And now Gregory House was standing in front of her, resplendent in only his boxers and socks.

For a moment, her eyes were drawn to his scar—ugly and large, but yet another symbol of their intimacy, of the trust he had in her. _Our scars are what make us human_, she thought. _Our scars are what make us beautiful._ (Were she to repeat that thought to House, however, he might actually laugh her out of his room.)

He noticed her notice his leg and, perhaps embarrassed, turned back to the closet. Now she was staring at his long back, his ass, the surprisingly strong muscles in the back of his thighs. She was undeniably feeling amorous, being this close to him, in this dimly lit room—with him practically naked and her in her sexy dress. (She had struggled with her own outfit—trying on everything from a pretty peasant dress to discreetly conservative shift dress—before finally settling on the skin-tight wrap dress. _He's earned it_, she thought.)

To distract herself, she took another gulp of wine, then continued looking around the room. There was a Rothko-esque abstract painting, and a black and white photo of Central Park from the 1940s. But no personal photos, at all. Not of his parents, not of himself. And then she noticed the top drawer of the nightstand was slightly open and a photograph—clearly of a woman—was poking out.

She should've ignored it, in deference to House's privacy, but the photo looked so familiar, she was compelled to explore further.

She opened the drawer—and was shocked by what she saw.

"Why do you have this photo of me dressed as Sleeping Beauty?" she said. (She had worn a corset that day. It gave the vague impression that her breasts were on the verge of popping out of the dress.)

"Snoop much?" he said, turning around, with an accusatory smirk.

"The drawer was open! Why do you have it?"

"To blackmail you, of course. Dean of Medicine dressed as a Disney princess? You never know when such a thing might come in handy."

"Nice try, House. I'm pretty sure _I'm_ the one with blackmail material in my hands."

He folded his arms, liking the game.

"Everyone knows I have a permanent hard-on for you. This is hardly a newsflash."

"So you admit that you masturbate to that photo of me," she said.

"The heaving bosom is….um, uplifting," he admitted. "Which tie?" he said, holding up two ties.

_He had lay on this bed—the very bed she was sitting on right now—masturbating to that picture of her_. She felt herself get hot.

She looked up. He was still standing there, in his boxers and socks, holding up the two ties.

"Come here," she said.

He shrugged, limped over to her.

Where she was sitting, on the bed, she was basically at crotch level with him.

She put her hands on the top of his boxers, fingered the elastic of his waistband.

"What are you doing?" he said, nervously.

She slid the boxers down a bit, onto his lower hips. More of that light brown hair, jutting out from the top of the boxers.

"Should I stop?" she said.

"No," he breathed.

He was hard already, which was good, because she pulled his boxers all the way down and took his rather impressive girth in her mouth.

He groaned and closed his eyes. He shuddered a bit and his whole body—save for the most important part—went limp.

"Oh God yes," he stuttered.

She couldn't remember the last time she was this sexually excited. To see House in the throes of ecstasy, to know that she had the power to pleasure him like this—it was all too much. She quickened her own pace, exciting them both, until he came, abundantly, in her mouth.

"Oh my fucking God," he said, collapsing onto the bed.

"I prefer the black tie," she said, with a giggle.

"Shhh," he said.

He was on top of her now, kissing her, fondling her, his hands ardently riding up her dress. He pulled her dress past her hips and spread her legs.

"I believe in the golden rule," he said, putting his face between her legs.

House was so good at oral sex, she vaguely wondered how many women he had been with, but then got too lost in the sensation, of the firmness of his tongue as it lapped at her clit, to even form a coherent thought.

After she came—embarrassingly loudly—they lay side by side on the bed. She was still wearing her dress, although it had been shoved up past her hips. And he was totally naked, save for a pair of socks.

"What time is it," she murmured, still in a dreamy post-orgasmic haze.

"8 o clock," House said.

"Oh shit! We better hurry, we're going to miss our reservation!"

"I don't think so," House said, unzipping her dress and taking it off.

Then, expertly, he unclasped her bra.

"What are you doing…" she said.

He cupped her breast with his hand, then took it in his mouth.

"This…" he said.

"But we're going to. . ."—again, coherent thought eluded her because he was doing this swirly thing with his tongue on her nipple that felt amazing.

"Do what?" he said, moving to her other breast.

"Forget it," she said. "Keep doing _that._"

House spent several minutes lavishing attention on her breasts, then they kissed on the mouth for several more minutes, until he was hard and inside her and they had great, long, mutually satisfying sex.

And then something occurred to her.

"There was never a reservation at Little Bird, was there?" she said, propped up on an elbow, looking at him.

"Um, you want the truth?" he said.

"Always," she said.

"Okay then. No."

"So the plan all along was to lure me into your bedroom, seduce me with your half-naked ass, and skip dinner completely?"

"Basically."

"And the picture of me as Sleeping Beauty?"

"A well planted prop. It got you thinking about me thinking about you naked…which led to you actually _being_ naked…"

"You jerk!" she said, swatting him, pretending to be more angry than she actually was.

"Tell me that dinner at Little Bird would've been better than what we just did," he said, cockily.

"Okay, it wouldn't have," she admitted. "But now I'm starving."

"Stay where you are," he said. "I shall cook you an unforgettable meal."

He popped up, still naked, and slipped into a pair of pajama bottoms and a tee-shirt.

"Look at that," he said, kissing her on the forehead. "Sleeping Beauty in my very own bed."

She smiled. She was having flashbacks to college: When Gregory House romanced you, it was like you were the only woman in the world.

He made his way into the kitchen.

She lay in his bed, feeling comfy and happy and besotted in a way she hadn't felt since college.

She heard the rattling of pans and dishes in the kitchen and then smelled the most wonderful aroma. Finally, curiosity got the best of her. She wrapped herself in House's sheet and made her way into the kitchen.

He was making something that involved pasta and egg and cheese and bacon—a modified carbonara of sorts.

"I told you to wait!" he said.

"I got curious," she said. "It smelled good."

"But you're naked under that sheet. How am I supposed to concentrate?"

"I'm always naked under my clothing."

"Oh my God, you're right! How am I supposed to concentrate at the hospital now?"

She chuckled.

"You'll manage."

"I'm serious, woman, go put some clothes on," he said. "I can't perform acts of culinary wizardry when all the blood is rushing to my nether regions."

She shook her head, went back to House's bedroom, found something to wear and put it on. Then she came back to the kitchen.

His eyes widened when he saw her.

"Now you're in my boxers and tee-shirt? That's supposed to be an improvement?"

He lowered the heat on his pasta, hobbled over to her.

"Hi," he said, kissing her luxuriously.

"Hi back," she said.

"You feel good," he said, rubbing her hips and waist under the tee-shirt and pulling her toward him.

"Get back to cooking!" she scolded.

He sighed.

"Yes ma'am."

She hopped up on a stool to watch him. He cracked an egg into the pan with one hand, then tossed the shell into the sink.

"You're pretty incredible, you know that?" she said.

"You're pretty incredible yourself."

"And tonight has been so much fun . . ." she said.

"But…?" he said, picking up on something in her voice.

"But I've got to ask…what took you so long to ask me out?"

House sighed.

"Part of skipping the restaurant was my attempt to avoid this conversation," he said.

"There's no avoiding it," she said, firmly.

He scratched his chin.

"Honestly? I. . .don't know. I know that's lame but there it is. My subconscious knew I wanted you for myself. But my conscious self was scared shitless."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Usual reasons, I guess. Fear of getting hurt. Fear of rejection."

"But you knew I liked you!"

"Why? Because we had sex 20 years ago? Because I took advantage of you and kissed you one night when you were in an incredibly vulnerable state?"

Cuddy looked down.

"It wasn't like that…you were comforting me."

"I don't know what I was doing. I was …acting on pure instinct."

"But when I came to you, told you about Lucas asking me out. I wanted you to tell me not to see him!"

"I did!"

"Not for logical reasons. Because you were jealous."

"I was. Insanely jealous. Obviously."

"But why couldn't you just tell me that? Why do you always have to act out?"

"Because my mother only fed me when I acted out as a child."

"Don't be glib, House."

"Sorry." A timer dinged. "And…saved by the carbonara. Taste this."

He twirled a forkful of the pasta and fed her. Of course, it was fantastic.

"You are a man of many, _many_ talents," she said.

"Thank you," he said, raising his eyebrows. "So can we eat now?"

"Okay," she said. "I'll drop it. I just need to know. Are you going to be nice to me tomorrow? Because I'm not sure I can take another day of you treating me like an annoying boss."

"Then don't be an annoying boss."

"Hey!"

He took her hand.

"I will be very, very nice," he said. "I will kiss your feet, feed you grapes, follow you around with a parasol. Whatever you need."

"Just smile at me in the hallway," she said.

"You drive a hard bargain, Dr. Cuddy, but I think that can be arranged," he said. "Now sit down and let me feed you."

#####

To make up for his subterfuge, House made an actual reservation at Little Bird for that Friday.

This time, they arranged to meet at the restaurant, 8 pm.

"Wear the cream dress," House said.

"It's, uh, at the dry cleaner," she replied.

"Oops."

Cuddy had to admit, she was excited about the date. House had been downright adorable all week at work, buying her lunch, sneaking kisses in the lab, holding her hand in the parking garage.

But this would be their first official date. Not just great sex and pillow talk, but two adults, having an actual conversation, in public, at a place with waiters and tablecloths and a wine list.

Cuddy arrived first. She sat the bar, ordered a glass of wine, waited for him.

Ten minutes passed. She glanced at her phone to see if there was a text message from him. There wasn't.

Then 20 minutes passed, then half an hour.

"Did anyone call for me?" she asked the host.

"No ma'am," he said, feeling sorry for her.

"Okay," she said.

"Would you prefer to wait at the table?" he suggested.

"No, I'm fine here."

She ordered a second glass of wine, tried not to guzzle it.

She looked at her watch. 8:45. Then 9 pm.

She called House, but it went straight to voicemail.

She considered leaving a "where are you?" message, then thought better of it.

There were only two possibilities, both highly insulting.

One, he had forgotten. (That was pretty unlikely. This was the same guy who remembered a glass of wine she had enjoyed three years ago.)

Two, he was having misgivings about a real relationship, but wasn't man enough to share them with her. So instead, he left her alone at the bar, wearing the dress she had rush dry cleaned, wondering why she ever let that bastard into her heart in the first place.

_To be continued…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Special thanks to Z for helping with a few key plot points of this chapter. Also, I pride myself on the mimesis of my stories and I admit that this one doesn't **_**quite**_** pass the smell test. Hopefully you can just suspend your disbelief (please?) and go with it. - atd**

The Monday after House was a no-show at Little Bird, he spotted Cuddy getting into the hospital elevator.

He grinned, began limping quickly in her direction. She saw him—at least he was pretty sure she had—but let the elevator door to close on his face.

_Weird_, he thought.

Later that day, she came to the DDx room to deliver some bad news to the team.

"I wasn't able to get your patient on the transplant list," she said.

"But you said you were going to call in some favors," Taub said. "Pull some strings."

"I tried," Cuddy said, somewhat tersely. "I failed. It happens."

"Our patient's going to die without that kidney," Thirteen said.

"Can't you pull any more strings?" Kutner said. "Make some more phone calls?"

"What part of _she tried_ didn't you understand?" House sniped. "Lay off."

The whole team shot him a curious look.

He expected Cuddy to smile at him with gratitude. Instead, she gave a curt nod and left.

He frowned.

"I'll be right back," he said, following her into the hall.

She'd already begun walking away, briskly.

"Hey!" he called after her.

"I'm sorry, House," she said. "Your patients don't always get top priority, shocking as that may be to you. You're just going to have to find another way."

"No, it's not that. It's . . ."—he swallowed—"are you okay?"

She gave a slightly derisive snort and kept walking. House looked at her, helplessly, then looked at his team, who were all staring at him. He scratched his chin, went back to the differential.

"What did she say?" Kutner asked.

"About what?" he said distractedly, still staring into the hallway.

"_Our patient_?"

"Oh, yeah. She couldn't get him on the list."

"Thank you, Captain Obvious," Taub said.

House folded his arms.

"Go tell our patient he better find some long-lost family member who's a kidney match or he'll be dead in 48 hours," he said wearily.

"We'll, uh, find a nicer way to say it than that," Thirteen said, standing up. The team followed her out.

"What's up with House and Cuddy?" Kutner asked, once they were in the hall.

"I don't know," Taub said. "But if Cuddy has been the source of the good mood he's been for the last few days, something tells she's about to be the source of a really bad one."

After they were gone, House made his way to Cuddy's office.

She was already back at her desk, doing some sort of paperwork.

He cleared his throat.

"I'm busy," she said.

"Hey," he said, hurt.

"What?" she replied, annoyed.

"Did I do something wrong?"

Another derisive snort.

"The fact that you have to ask that shows you're not even close to being ready to be in a relationship."

"Cuddy, I'm completely lost here. What did I do?"

She finally looked up.

"I waited at Little Bird for over an hour! It was humiliating."

"What?" His mouth dropped open.

"Don't tell me you forgot about our date Friday night."

"I didn't forget. You cancelled on me!"

"That's a new one."

"Are you saying you _didn't_ cancel on me?"

"Yes House. That's exactly what I'm saying. And you know it!"

"You texted me that night. Your exact words were: 'Sorry. Need to reschedule. Will explain later.'"

"Your ability to lie to me with a straight face is astonishing."

He cocked his head, studying her.

"Are you messing with me?"

"No, but you're obviously messing with me."

He pulled out his phone, began scrolling through his messages.

"Cuddy, you texted me Friday night. I have the texts to…" he stopped, as a look of confusion washed over his face.

She raised an eyebrow.

"You were saying."

"They were on my phone on Friday!" he said, frantically, scrolling some more, feeling his neck get hot.

"And what happened to them? Did the cellphone gremlins erase them?"

"No. . .I. . .this makes no sense!"

"You can stop lying now House. You've been caught."

He stopped looking at his phone. The texts were clearly not there.

"I guess it's possible I fell asleep and dreamt those texts," he said, totally puzzled. "Cuddy, I would never ever intentionally stand you up."

"And yet you did."

"I'm sorry. Do you honestly think after that night we spent together I wouldn't want, well, _another_ night together?"

"Sex yes. Date no. You made that rather clear on Monday night."

He swallowed.

"I'm not playing here. I want us to work. For real. And if that means dinners at trendy restaurants with names so precious they trigger my gag reflex, then that's what we'll have—as many as you want. I will eat at the Puny Pig, the Tiny Tortoise, the Miniature Manatee, you name it."

Cuddy looked at him. He was clearly being genuine.

"Okay," she said, with a sigh. "We'll chalk this up to a misunderstanding. A really _bizarre_ misunderstanding, but one all the same."

"Thank you," he said, relieved. "So we can try again? Say…tomorrow night?"

"Yes," she said. "But NOT at Little Bird. It's jinxed."

"I'll see if the Miniature Manatee is accepting reservations," he said, with a smile.

"How bout Sullivan's?" she said.

"Oh come on. Even I can do better than that. Giovanni's?"

"I went there with Lucas."

"I know. I want to _prove_ to you what a better date I am."

She gave him a slightly flirty look.

"Oh, I'm already well aware of that."

"Nice," he said. "Giovanni's it is. 8 pm. Don't be late. Lord knows I won't. In fact, just to be on the safe side, I'm leaving right now."

She chuckled.

"Come here," she said, softening.

He ambled over hopefully.

"I'm sorry I was mean to you," she said, standing and putting her hands on his waist.

"I deserved it. . . .Well, kind of."

"How can I make it up to you?" she said, giving him a brushing kiss on the lips.

"That was a good start," he said.

"Better?" she said, putting her tongue in his mouth.

"Much," he said, grabbing her and kissing her harder, lifting her a bit off the floor. Things started to get a little hot.

"Ahem," a male voice said.

They stopped kissing—House put Cuddy down; she landed with a tiny thud on the ground—and turned guiltily in the direction of the voice.

House's whole team was standing there, their arms folded, grinning at him.

"Uh, sorry to interrupt," Kutner said. "But we think we may have figured out a way to save our patient."

"I highly doubt that," House said.

"We just didn't know how…busy you were," Taub said with a smirk.

"Well, looks like I am!" House said. "See ya!"

"Nice try," Cuddy said, patting House on the shoulder. "Get back to work!"

He rolled his eyes in dismay. "You guys had to pick this _one_ time to come up with a good idea?" he groaned, reluctantly following his team out of her office.

"I had no idea you and Cuddy were so…close," Taub said to him, once they were in the hall.

House gave a half-shrug—not quite denying it, not quite agreeing.

"Lucky bastard," Thirteen and Kutner said, in unison.

#####

The next day, around lunch time, Cuddy passed four of her male doctors sitting at a table with one of the regular drug reps, named John.

"Hey, Dr. Cuddy," John said, as she passed. "Can I talk to you?"

A tiny titter went through the group.

She stopped.

"What's up?"

He stood, shoved his hands in his pockets.

"I was, uh, wondering if you'd like to go out with me?" he said.

She smiled.

"I don't date people I work with," she said, starting to walk away.

"That's not what I hear," John said.

She stopped.

"I'm sorry?"

"Or we could skip the date and go right to my place," John said knowingly, as the table tittered some more. "I understand you prefer it that way."

She felt her face get red.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Nothing…just from what I hear you're a _great_ first date," he said, winking. "Very giving."

"Who told you that?"

"Word gets around. Clearly Dr. House isn't the only one who should benefit from your…talents."

"How dare you talk to me that way! I could have you fired!"

"I don't work for you," he reminded her.

"I know your boss," she said.

He smiled, like it was all a big joke.

"Look, don't get all bent out of shape, Dr. Cuddy. You can't blame a guy for asking."

She turned to the other men at the table—all of whom _did_ work for her. They were cringing a bit.

"Do you know anything about this disgusting rumor?" she said.

They all looked down at the table.

"Barry?"—Dr. Barry Kornacki, a neurologist she was pretty friendly with.

"John's just being an ass," he said. "As usual."

"And the rumor?"

"Men talk," he said. "Don't blame House. So he boasted. Who wouldn't?"

Cuddy felt physically ill. House had bragged about her as some sort of sexual conquest? Going into details about her "talents"? She was, frankly, shocked and disgusted. This didn't jibe at all with the House she thought she knew—who had a streak of chivalry that was downright old-fashioned.

"Let's focus more on work and less on my private life, shall we?" she said, gathering herself. "I'm contacting HR and having them set up a special sexual harassment training session for the four of you."

"We attended that already!" one of the doctors moaned.

"You obviously weren't paying attention," she said. Then she turned to John: "As for you, I will be requesting a new rep from the drug company. _And_ telling your boss why. Good day."

She walked away, trying not to appear rattled. But this was exactly the sort of treatment from her male employees she had always dreaded. When she got to her office, she closed the door, went into her private bathroom, and cried.

#######

The more she thought about it, the more she was convinced it was some sort of misunderstanding. If House had told Wilson some of the details of their night, that was forgivable. She had told one of her friends from yoga ("I just had one of the greatest sexual experiences of my life and if I don't talk about it I might actually burst"), he was entitled to talk to a friend, too. And maybe Wilson had told a friend who had told a friend and the rumor had gotten distorted, turned salacious, ugly. She decided the best thing to do was to ask House directly.

She was heading to his office when a woman—completely out of place in the hospital, highly made up, teetering on high heels—approached her.

"Dr. Cuddy right?" the woman said.

Cuddy gaped at her.

"Brandy?" she said.

"You remembered!" Brandy said.

"You're kind of…hard to forget."

"I'm looking for Greg. Can you direct me to his office?"

Cuddy was shocked.

"You know you can't. . ."

"Oh, it's not what you think. I'm giving him a leg massage," Brandy said cheerfully.

"A leg massage?"

"Yeah, he says he likes my hands." She giggled. "So…his office?"

"Second floor," she said, still stunned. "Make a left off the elevator."

"Ta-ta!" Brandy said, teetering away.

Cuddy shook her head in disgust and stormed back to her office.

######

"Do you think you want to call your dinner date and see what's keeping her?" the waiter said.

"Na, she'll be here. She's just making me sweat," House said. "She thinks I deserve it."

He glanced at his watch. 8:30.

"Another scotch?" the waiter said.

House hesitated. "Why the hell not?" he said, with a shrug.

He drank the second scotch, ate a whole basket of bread sticks, and read and memorized every item on the menu. Then he looked at his watch again. 8:55.

Finally, he pulled out his phone.

"Ok Cuddy, lesson learned. I'll never blow u off again. Now get ur gorgeous ass down here. I'm starving," he texted her.

No reply.

He drummed his fingers on the table.

Then tried again: "Ok now I'm actually getting worried. WHERE ARE YOU?"

Finally, he called. The phone rang and rang and rang, but she never picked up.

The waiter came back over.

"Is it possible you guys got your lines crossed?" he said.

"Is it possible that you're an idiot?" House said.

The waiter pursed his lips.

"Actually, it's been over an hour," he said. "At some point, you have to either order or give up the table."

"Whatever happened to the customer is always right?" House grumbled, but he threw some crumpled bills on the table and left.

######

The next night, at about 9 pm, Lucas entered Sullivan's. The bar was loud and crowded and a bit disorienting. He scanned the room, then smiled when he saw her. She was sitting at the bar, her legs crossed elegantly, dressed tantalizingly in red.

"Hi," he said eagerly, sitting down next to her.

"Hi," she said, smiling demurely.

"I can't tell you how glad I am you called me," he said.

"And I'm glad you agreed to come. Come, let me buy you a drink," she said.

"Miller Lite," Lucas said.

"And a dirty Ketel One martini for me," she told the bartender. Then she turned to Lucas, "I never properly apologized to you for the way things shook out between us."

"Yeah, that was pretty brutal."

"I know. Suffice it to say, House doesn't bring out the best in me."

"Since I'm here and he's not, I take it things didn't work out between you?" he said hopefully.

"That's an understatement."

"I have a pretty good shoulder to cry on," he said tapping his shoulder. "But only this one. The other one sucks." He laughed at his own joke. "You want to tell me all about it?"

Cuddy took a contemplative sip of her martini.

"In short, you were right," she said.

"I love being right. Right how?"

"House is not ready to be in a relationship. Not even close."

"How so?"

"First he stands me up then he claims that _I_ was the one who sent him a text to cancel."

"That's pretty easy to prove or disprove, either way," Lucas said.

"Exactly. Of course there was no text, because he made the whole thing up."

"How did he explain that?"

"He said he must've dreamt the whole thing."

"Wow. Weak excuse," Lucas chuckled.

"And that was just the tip of the iceberg," Cuddy said. "I found out that he was spreading vulgar rumors about me around the hospital. Boasting about his sexual conquests like some sort of horny frat boy."

"That is so sleazy," Lucas said, shaking his head in sympathetic disgust.

"I'll say," Cuddy agreed. "And then it turns out he was still seeing that hooker."

"Candy?"

"Brandy. Yeah, I bumped into her in the hospital. She was on her way to give him a massage."

"The happy ending kind, I presume?"

"Do hookers give any other kind?"

"I hate to say I told you so but…"

"You told me so," Cuddy agreed.

"Well isn't this cozy?" a gravelly voice said.

Both Lucas and Cuddy looked up. It was House, who had managed to limp his way toward them, unnoticed.

"Oh, great," Lucas said.

"What are you doing here, House?" Cuddy said testily. "Did you follow me?"

"Never mind that," House said. "What are you doing with _him_?"

"Having a drink," Cuddy said.

"Buzz off, House. Does the phrase three's a crowd ring a bell?" Lucas said.

House ignored him. "Why'd you stand me up last night?" he said to Cuddy.

"I don't know. Why don't you ask Brandy?"

"Brandy? What the hell does she have to do with this?" House said. "I haven't seen her in weeks."

"I saw her at the hospital yesterday, House. Stop lying to me!"

"House, just accept the fact that you've lost," Lucas said. "Cuddy finally sees your true colors."

"This is _so_ none of your business, Pucas."

"Actually, it is my business. I'm with Lisa right now and you're obviously making her very upset."

"Oh, I'm just getting started!"

Cuddy stood up, faced House.

"You drive me crazy, do you know that?" she said.

"That's rich coming from you. Because you drive _me_ crazy!" he said.

"I sometimes don't know if I want to kiss you or kill you!" she barked, pressing two fingers against his chest.

"Take your pick!" he barked back.

And with that, she grabbed him, hard, and kissed him roughly on the mouth. He kissed her back and soon they were making out right there at the bar, their hands all over each other.

When they parted, they both turned to Lucas, who was sitting there with his mouth open.

"It's really sad how all your dates end with me and Cuddy making out," House cracked.

Cuddy laughed.

"Sucks to be you, Lucas," she said, taking House's hand.

Finally, Lucas got it.

"You know," he groaned, putting his head in his hands.

"Of course we know," House said. He had lipstick smeared all over his face, which Cuddy had begun dabbing, unsuccessfully, with a napkin.

"Shit," Lucas said, almost to himself. "I really thought I pulled this one off."

"Not even close," House said. "Well, okay, actually pretty close. But not close enough."

"What you did was really mean and shitty and horrible," Cuddy said.

House smiled at her. "Yeah!" he agreed.

Lucas shrugged.

"You can't blame me," he said. "You interrupted my date and stole my woman."

"I was _never_ your woman," Cuddy corrected.

"What was I supposed to do about it? Pout? Cry in my beer? I'm a man of action. So I acted."

'"A man of devious action," Cuddy said.

"It _was_ some of my finest work," Lucas agreed.

"Explain one thing to me," House said. "I get that you called Brandy, paid her to recite some bullshit script. And you spread false rumors, claiming I started them. But how did you send those fake text messages?"

"Super secret private detective stuff," Lucas said. "I'd tell you, but I'd have to kill. But, uh, you should probably both change the passwords on your phones."

"You also owe me $7 for that beer," Cuddy said.

"Really Lisa?"

"I'm not in the habit of buying beers for assholes. Also, please go. I'd like to be alone with my real date."

"Here," Lucas said, angrily slapping the money on the bar. "I'll leave. But ask yourself this, Lisa: Why were you so quick to believe every crappy thing I invented about him? Why were you so quick to believe he stood you up, acted like a misogynist pig, and continued sleeping with hookers? We both know why: Because you don't trust your instincts about him. And you don't trust him either."

"Shut up, Lucas," House and Cuddy said, in unison.

He shrugged.

"Fine," he said. "Enjoy your shitty, fucked up, codependent lives together!"

"We intend to!" House shouted back, then thought about it: "But, uh, without the shitty and codependent part."

After Lucas left, House turned to Cuddy, beaming.

"I think I love Con Artist Cuddy most of all," he said.

"And I loved our little faux fight. It actually got me kind of hot."

"Oh. My. God," House said. He played with the hem of her dress where it met her thigh. "Let's get out of here," he whispered. "Unless you're hungry?" he added politely. "We could have dinner first. . .?"

"Dinner is so overrated," she said, grabbing him by the collar.

#####

About 24 hours earlier, House had showed up at Cuddy's house and banged loudly on her door.

"Cuddy, lemme in!" he bellowed.

"Go away!" she bellowed back.

"We need to talk!"

"No we don't!"

"I'm not leaving this doorstep until you talk to me!"

"Then I'll call the cops."

"No you won't!"

Cuddy sighed, put on a bathrobe and answered the door.

"How was Giovanni's?" she asked.

"You know how it was," he said. "It sucked. Where were you?"

"Here, obviously."

"Don't you think you're overreacting just a _little_ bit to that whole Little Bird thing?"

She folded her arms.

"If you think this is about Little Bird, you're even more delusional than I thought."

House gave a stunned laugh.

"What else then?" he said.

"I know about those obscene rumors you spread about me!"

"_What?_"

She slumped her shoulders. "House, this is getting exhausting. Stop lying to me!"

"I honestly have no idea what you're talking about. What rumors?"

"You told everyone we had sex! And apparently went into disgusting detail about how skilled I am."

House's face turned several shades of crimson.

"Cuddy, I would never!"

He looked so appalled, she almost took pity on him.

"Come inside," she said. "The hospital is bad enough. No need for all my neighbors to know about our sex lives, too."

"Cuddy, I didn't tell a soul," he said, once inside.

She put her hands on her hips.

"Not even Wilson?"

"No! No one!"

"Well, you must've told someone, because it was all over the hospital. One of the drug reps propositioned me."

The veins began bulging in House's neck.

"Which one? I'll kill him."

She looked at him.

"Alright, calm down," she said.

"So that's why you stood me up?" he said, still puzzled.

"Not just that. I also bumped into your little whore in the hospital today."

"Thirteen may be a little promiscuous but I'd hardly call her a whore. . ."

"Not Thirteen. Brandy."

"_What?!_"

"She was about to give you a massage."

"That is just a bald-faced lie."

Cuddy rolled her eyes.

"Enough with the theatrics, House! It's not like you."

House scratched his head.

"None of this makes any sense. I never said a word about us to anyone, I haven't seen Brandy since two weeks ago, and I would never stand you up. It's almost like someone's messing with—"

Then he stopped.

"I'm an idiot," he said.

"No arguments here."

"Don't get too smug. You're an idiot, too."

"Hey!"

"It was Lucas. It was Lucas all along."

"I'm not following you."

"He's a professional private eye. And a professional weasel. He must've stolen my cell phone—or something. And he's the one who started the rumor about us and hired Brandy."

Cuddy made a face.

"That's a pretty convenient theory, House," she said.

"Only because it makes perfect sense," he said. "I interrupted your date and ended up making out with you while he was sitting in the next room. Do you really think he was just going to take that sitting down?"

She furrowed her brow, thinking it over.

"I suppose. . ."

"Cuddy, I finally grew the balls to ask you out, had one of the best nights of my life with you—why on earth would I sabotage that?"

She smiled, despite herself.

"That was one of the best nights of your life?" she said.

"Top three, easily," he said.

She folded her arms.

"I guess it does make some sense…" she admitted.

Just then, House's phone buzzed.

He looked down, shook his head in disbelief.

"You just sent me a text," he said.

"I what?"

"'Drop dead, House. You're a pig and I never want to see you again,'" he read. Then he looked up. "I think he really captured your voice."

"Let me see that," she said, yanking the phone from his hand. Her eyes widened, "Holy shit! It really is Lucas."

"Told you."

"Oh my God, House. I owe you a huge apology."

"It's not your fault. We got played. Both of us."

"N0, I shouldn't have believed the worst about you. I should've gone to you directly, talked to you."

He shrugged.

"I haven't exactly given you much reason to trust me these last few years," he said. "But I want that to change."

"Me too," she said.

"Come here," he said—and much to his relief, she went to him, folded into his arms.

He sighed, kissed the top of her head.

"You feel good," he said.

"So do you," she said.

He leaned down and kissed her on the lips.

Both her nightgown and robe were made of a thin cotton and he was having a hard time not getting excited as he touched her slender back, tasted her mouth and tongue.

He stopped kissing her.

"It's 10 pm," he said. "You should get dressed. Giovanni's is probably shot. But we can at least go to one of those 24 hour diners."

She wrinkled her nose.

"You really want to get dinner?" she said, grabbing his ass. "Because I can think a few other things I'd rather do."

"You truly are the perfect woman," he said.

She giggled.

"I know."

"But we're going to be on our honeymoon before we have our first actual date."

It was a joke, but her heart melted a little bit all the same. Gregory House talking about a honeymoon—with her.

"Let's go have lots of sex and plot our revenge," she said.

THE END


End file.
